The Poolside Pyramid

The chlorine stung my nose as I stepped onto the pool deck, heart hammering against my ribs. Freshman year, and somehow I'd let Maya talk me into trying out for the cheer squad's human pyramid routine.

"You got this!" Maya yelled from the shallow end, already surrounded by a gaggle of sophomore girls who'd claimed their spots at the pyramid's base. She'd been my best friend since kindergarten, but lately she'd been ascended into the upper echelons of the social stratosphere while I remained firmly planted in middle-tier obscurity.

I climbed onto my designated tier—second from the bottom—and tried not to think about how the pool water rippled beneath us, reflecting our trembling formation. Principal Watkins watched from the sidelines, clipboard in hand, while half the school seemed to be gathered around the pool area.

"Ready? One, two, UP!" The captain's voice cut through the humidity.

We lifted. My arms shook as I supported the flyer above me. And then—maybe it was the sweat on my shoulders, maybe the pool deck was slippery, or maybe my nerves just short-circuited—but my grip faltered.

The pyramid collapsed. Bodies tumbling into the water in a chaotic splash.

I surfaced, spluttering, expecting laughter. Mockery. The kind of moment that would live in infamy on everyone's Snapchat stories.

But Maya was already there, extending a hand. "Epic wipeout, but honestly? That took guts." She pulled me up, her phone nowhere in sight. "Besides, now we have a story for the rest of high school."

Maybe climbing the social pyramid wasn't about staying perfectly balanced at the top. Maybe it was about having someone who'd help you up when you fell—and laugh with you, not at you, while you were both soaked and gasping for air.